


Open Road

by PhoenixGFawkes



Category: Dexter (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Minor Character Death, Murder, Road Trips, Season/Series 01, Sibling Incest, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-21
Updated: 2008-01-21
Packaged: 2017-10-28 22:19:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/312776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixGFawkes/pseuds/PhoenixGFawkes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘When his world comes crashing down, there’s no explosion, no thunder.’ A ‘what if Dexter gets caught?’ fic. Dexter/Debra. Adult content.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open Road

When his world comes crashing down, there’s no explosion, no thunder. It just falls apart one summer morning. It goes suddenly, silently, like a card pyramid blown by a gentle breeze.

Except that the breeze is not gentle. It’s a hurricane that destroys what has taken him thirty years to build. One summer morning, his face is on every newspaper front page, on every broadcast. Everyone wearing a blue uniform, everyone with a badge is after him. His name is pronounced with fear and awe, revulsion and fury, horror and morbid curiosity. The entire city – and soon will the state and the country – knows his darkest secret. His inner self has been brought out to the light of day, his true nature has been revealed.

It’s time to disappear.

There are so many things he would like to do. So many things… but there’s no time, no time at all. He must run as fast, as far as he can… and even then he probably doesn’t stand a chance.

He doesn’t try to see Rita and the kids one more time – he knows they are being watched, and he doesn’t think she would like to see him anyway, not now that she knows what lies behind his mask. He doesn’t try to write her a letter, he doesn’t try to explain – there’s nothing he can say. He is what he is, and therefore he must run.

He leaves his house, his boat and his slides behind. He must travel light and they already have all the evidence they need to send him to the electric chair. If he wants to survive, he must vanish into thin air.

He travels through the sewers, finding safety among the shadows. His solace doesn’t last long. He has to come to the surface and he knows that even with dyed hair and a fake beard the odds are still against him. He nearly makes it, though. He finds a car in a deserted alley and although the Code doesn’t condone stealing, this is a dire situation and starts the engine.

At the very last moment he is stopped… by her, of all people.

He never wanted to hurt her. He never actually wanted to hurt anybody – unless those who deserved it, and even then he only sought to wound their flesh, not to shatter their hearts like he knows he’s shattered hers.

She is the last person in the world he wants to look at him in fear or contempt – and yet he has not given anyone else scars as deep as the ones that he has carved on her soul. He has not made anyone else bleed like she will bleed for him – because she is the only person in this world who loves him, the only person who trusts him unconditionally.

He hesitates. He doesn’t want to look into her eyes. He fears what he might find in them. At long last, though, he raises his head to find her gun aiming at his chest. Her eyes are hard and cold, her features seem to be made of stone. The hand holding the gun doesn’t tremble, neither does her voice.

‘I knew I’d find you.’

Her tone is flatless and makes his hair to stand on end, but not from fear. It’s not fear what tightens around his throat like a vice, it’s not fear the feeling that’s slicing his chest from the inside. He can’t recognise the feeling, he can’t tell why suddenly air has abandoned his lungs, why even breathing hurts so much. He just knows that the dead look in her eyes is tearing him apart.

‘I never… I never wanted to hurt you.’

Every word he says it’s true but it doesn’t matter. He has killed her all the same.

‘Shut the hell up and get into the trunk.’

‘What…?’

‘Fuck you, Dexter,’ she says, and there’s a sudden spark in her eyes that makes him to breath again. ‘Get in the fucking trunk. _Now_.’

He does as he’s told. He could have put up a fight. He could have made one last struggle for survival. But he would have risked hurting her, and that’s the only thing he can’t bring himself to do. It’s all over now. She will hand him over so he gets the punishment society dictates he deserves. There’s nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

It’s not a police station what he sees when she finally opens the trunk, after what feel like hours. Instead he finds himself in the middle of nowhere, the car parked in a secondary road that’s not even paved. He looks around, blinking because of the sudden change of light. There is no sign of human life in miles around them.

She is lounging against the side of the car, her arms folded over her chest, her eyes fixed upon the dying sun in the horizon. She doesn’t turn to look at him when he walks closer. Her face still looks like a marble statue, but he thinks that he can distinguish a glimpse of feeling underneath the darkness in her gaze.

‘Did Dad know?’

He could lie to her. He could pretend and avoid her further suffering.

But he has been pretending for her his entire life and something tells him neither of them will stand it much longer.

‘Yeah, he did.’

Her expression – or lack of thereof – doesn’t change. He swallows. He should say something else, he should try to explain – no words come to his lips, though, and he remains in silence.

‘Did… Did Rudy know as well?’

His breath catches. He closes his eyes, opens them again. No matter how much time comes to pass, it will always be a sore subject for him – for both of them.

‘He did.’

She nods, almost imperceptibly, and bites her lip. He stares at her, taking in her stony face, her darkened eyes. She doesn’t look like his little sister anymore. And yet, the look on her face is not entirely unfamiliar.

‘You knew.’

The moment the words escape his lips, he knows they are true even though the thought has never crossed his mind before. She knew. He doesn’t know for how long, he doesn’t know to what extent, but a part of her has known what he was for a long time, a part of her must have accepted it to some level or she would have acted before this.

She turns her head and looks directly into his eyes for the first time. There’s pain in there and something inside him clenches at the sight of it. But there’s also resolution.

‘Get in the car, Dexter. You’re driving now.’

They drive for hours taking turns, always following secondary roads and deserted paths. They don’t stop until they are out of the state. Then they make a short stop at a gas station, where he gets rid of his fake beard and she emerges from the ladies’ restroom with short, dyed hair and different clothes.

At motels – where they stop only when they have no other choice – they register as a married couple when they must and always pay in cash. It raises less supicions, and considering that his picture is now decorating every post office the last thing they can afford is to raise suspicions.

The first nights he tries to be a gentleman and sleeps on the floor, until one night she pokes him with her foot and glares at him.

‘Can you stop being such a fucking moron and get in here? It’s big enough for two.’

From that moment on they always share the bed, like they did sometimes when they were little and slept over at their grandparents’. She still takes most of the bed and he still is a light sleeper but they manage just fine.

Some nights she cries softly in her sleep and he doesn’t know what to do. He knows that he’s at least part of the reason he cries, but he has never been good at comforting people and she has never liked to be petted. In the end, though, he plucks up the courage to put his arms around her one night and to his surprise, her sobs grow fainter and she sleeps peacefully once more. From that moment on she always sleeps in his arms, her head on his chest, one hand placed upon his heart.

They don’t talk much at first. They decide upon which route they’ll take or whether they should change their appearance once more and that’s about it. The silence between them is heavy with unsaid truths and untold secrets, but she tries to ignore it by filling the air with Eric Carmen.

As one day follows the other, as they sleep together one night after the other, she starts to ask questions. She is hesitant, because she is not sure how much she really wants to know yet. He wonders whether he should try to soften the blow, to edulcorate his words and give her the half-truths he’s given her his entire life as a Morgan. But the times for half-truths and lies is over and he sees it in her eyes.

He tells her, then, of his mother’s death and those two days he spent drenched in blood. He tells her about the neighbour’s dog he got rid of so their dying mother would have her rest. He tells her about Harry teaching him to hunt prey far larger than deers, he tells her about the Code.

Sometimes it’s too much for her and she stands up and leaves the room while he’s still talking. She locks herself in the bathroom a few times and he learns it’s best to leave her alone. He doesn’t try to open the door, he doesn’t try to talk to her. He turns off the lights and goes to sleep, and a while later – perhaps a few minutes, perhaps an hour or two – he feels her weight on the mattress before she makes her way into his arms.

Other times she leaves the motel and takes the car with her. The first time he believes she is heading towards the nearest police station to turn him in and figures the best he could do is run away before they come back for him. But for some reason he finds himself unable to do so. Instead he lies awake in bed, waiting for her return. Hours later she comes back, her eyes red-rimmed, her hair dishevelled and her clothes wrinkled. She doesn’t turn on the lights, she doesn’t say a word. She sits on the edge of the bed, her back to him and stays like that for a while. Uncertain as to what he should do he stays still, waiting.

‘I saw your bag,’ she says, in a whisper so faint he almost misses it. ‘You’ll do it again.’

It’s not a question. Apart from all the cash he had and some items for survival, the only stuff he bothered to take with him were his tools. She knows far too much now not to recognise them for what they are.

‘Will you try to stop me?’

She doesn’t reply. He looks at her profile intently but she gives nothing away. When did his little sister, who used to carry her heart on her sleeve, become into a sphinx of concrete?

She lets out a sigh.

‘It’s too late to turn back now, isn’t it?’

‘If you want, you could leave and…’

She spins around so fast her face becomes a blur for a moment. He blinks in surprise and when he opens his eyes, hers are only inches away, flashing with anger and some other emotion he can’t classify. When she speaks, her breath is hot against his skin and he thinks the force of her fury will burn him.

‘Do you think I can just leave? That after all what happened, after all you told me about Dad, that I can just forget and go back? Do you really believe such horseshit?’

She shoves him hard and he falls upon the mattress. For a moment he fully believes she’ll punch him on the face next.

‘I can’t go back, Dexter. Not after I helped you out. And I can’t go somewhere else, because you might be a fucked up psycho, but you’re all the family I have left and I…’ Her voice quivers and suddenly she doesn’t look like a marble statue but a scared, lonely child. ‘I can’t leave you, Dex. I can’t, so please don’t ask me to, please don’t…’

‘I don’t want you to leave.’

What surprises him is how absolutely true that statement is. He doesn’t want her gone. Perhaps it’s selfish, perhaps it’s twisted, but he wants her by his side, especially now that she knows him, truly knows him. He needs her more than he’s ever needed anybody after Harry and he can’t let her go.

A sob escapes her lips and to his surprise, she throws herself into his arms and starts to cry uncontrollably. Stunned, he stays still for a moment, until Harry’s lessons kick in and he wraps his arms around her and starts shushing her.

‘It’s alright, Deb,’ he whispers in her ear even thought it’s not and it will never be. ‘I’m not going anywhere, not without you,’ he adds and at least that part is true.

He stops fearing she won’t come back when she goes for a drive alone, even though sometimes it takes her hours to return. But she always does and even though it’s hard for her to speak at first, she always hugs him when she lies in bed and she can only fall asleep when her face is hidden in the crook of his shoulder, no matter what horrors he’s shared with her that night.

In spite of her new understanding of him, it takes him a long time to tell her about Brian. He really doesn’t want to and he starts to suspect it’s not merely because it will hurt her, as Harry’s daughter has proved that she can handle more than most. There’s something else that’s stopping him from telling her and he thinks it might be selfishness. Brian is his darkest, most intimate secret, his brother is the only thing he’s ever had entirely for himself, the only thing he had before Harry, before her and he wants to keep it to himself. A part of him feels that if he shares Brian’s memory with her, his image might fade in his mind, his voice might stop resounding in his mind and then he will lose the only tie with his past he has left.

But there is another reason as well and it’s that Brian has marked him more than anything else in his life since Harry’s death and he doesn’t like to show vulnerability in front of anyone, not even her. He fears that if he shows her the scars Brian’s death has left behind, if he shows her how much it has broken him, then she will have more power over him than anyone – even Harry – has ever had. Perhaps he liked to make powerful women to commit suicide, but at least Dr. Meridian was right about one thing: he doesn’t like handing over control, not even to her, who right now is the person he trusts the most.

One night he makes up his mind and tells her everything. That day they’ve barely seen each other, because he has risen before daybreak. The man in the room across the hall enjoyed molesting thirteen-year-olds far too much and it had been a long time since he had done what he was best at, so that morning he took care of the matter. She watched him go without saying a word and when he came back with a suspicious stain on one sleeve she ignored it, but he knows she’s figured it out.

After a few glasses of the stongest drink she could find, he starts to tell her everything. About his mother, who used to wear tops with the words ‘ _The Doors_ ’ stamped on them, whose nails  were painted in bright, different colours. He tells her of childish games in the garden, about falls from skateboards. And he tells her about the boy with dark hair and kind eyes who always looked out for him, who took him by the hand during all the time they spent inside the cargo box that had become their mother’s coffin. He tells her about a dismembered doll in his freezer, about Hallmark postcards corrupted. He tells her about being born free and a family reunion that did not turn out quite as planned, about a silver knife and a last goodbye, he tells her about blood running while tears flowed from his eyes. He tells her everything.

Colour drains from her face as he speaks, her eyes widen in shock. She looks too stunned to speak, she’s barely breathing. He thinks about stopping, he reckons he might be inflicting her more pain than she can take, but now that he has started he just can’t stop until the whole story has come out, no matter the cost.

When he finishes she stays still for what feels like a century. He doesn’t know what to do so he does nothing but watch her. However, a mask has fallen upon her face and he can’t read the expression in her eyes.

She suddenly stands up, the bottle of cheap scotch clutched in her hand, and walks out the door. He frets until he realises she hasn’t taken the car keys with her, so he doesn’t have to worry about her crashing against a lamp-post.

Still he worries, because it’s the middle of the night and they are in the middle of nowhere. If something happens to her, no one will hear her screams, just like nobody heard the child molester’s cries of agony as he disposed of him.

The first rays of sun are rising in the horizon when she returns. He is not waiting for her in the bed; instead, he sits in the only chair, still fully dressed, all lights out. She stumbles her way into their room and by the looks of it she has procured herself at least another bottle and has downed it before coming back. He starts to get up to help her out but then thinks better of it. He just stands there, half-rising from the chair. She walks towards him in zig-zag, trips over her own feet and stumbles forwards. He barely has time to dart forward and catch her by the shoulders before she collapses onto the floor.

She lets out a giggle and suddenly he is reminded of her when she was fifteen and came home late at night after having a few beers with her friends, and he had to guide her towards her bedroom so Harry wouldn’t wake up. It feels like something that happened a century ago to a different set of siblings.

He can smell alcohol on her breath and looks away, but she merely giggles some more and throws her arms around his neck. He nearly trips backwards but manages to regain his footing, his hands steadying her.

‘Don’t let me fall, Dexter,’ she says and her tone is suddenly serious. He frowns and looks into her eyes, as dark as the shadows around them.

‘I won’t,’ he replies in the same tone. She looks at him intently, as if trying to read the truth in his eyes, finally she nods.

‘No, you won’t. My own dark knight in shinning armour.’

‘Deb, you’re not making any sense. Let me take you to the bathroom, so you can wash your face, okey?’

She frowns, as though she’s having a hard time understanding his words. Then she shakes her head but stops suddenly, a dizzy look on her face.

‘Yeah, that sounds like a good idea,’ she agrees at last and he lets out a relieved sigh. When he tries to lead her to the bathroom, though, she softly pushes him away.

‘I can walk, Dexter,’ she says and goes towards the bathroom. He follows her a few steps behind in case she trips, but her step doesn’t falter once. She closes the door on his face and he goes to sit on the edge of the bed.

A few minutes later she reemerges, her hair wet and wearing only her bra and jeans. She looks considerably soberer as she wipes her face with a towel and he gives her a weak smile that she does not return. Instead she lounges against the doorframe, a thoughtful look on her face.

‘It’s always been about you, hasn’t it?,’ she whispers but he can hear every word. ‘Back when we were kids I used to hate it, that Dad was always paying you all the attention and I…’ Her voice trails off. ‘I used to think he liked you better than me. ’

‘Deb, it wasn’t like –’

‘I know,’ she cuts him in. ‘I know that now, but I wish I had known then… On second thought, no, I don’t think I would’ve taken it that well.’

She sighs and drops the towel on the floor. He guesses this is not the right time to point out that she should tidy up after herself. She runs a hand through her hair, droplets of water sliding down her neck, her shoulders, her chest. He tries very hard not to stare.

‘Whatever happened between… between Rudy and me, that was all about you as well, right?’ Her tone is strangely flatless. ‘He only picked me to get to you, didn’t he?’

‘Deb, I…’

He stops right there. He doesn’t know what to say. He should probably say he feels sorry for her, but that doesn’t sound right. He wonders what a normal person would say in such situation but then, normal people don’t have his family issues.

She shakes her head. ‘Don’t bother. Really, it’s okey. I got over it.’

He doesn’t believe her for a second. He stands up and walks towards her but stops right in front of her, unsure of what to do. Should he hug her? Awkwardly he places his hands on her cold, naked shoulders, and gives a gentle squeeze. She looks up, a burning intensity in her eyes.

‘He was your brother. Next of kin, and all that. But you chose me. Why?’

That’s a question that has crossed his mind many times since Brian’s death. Why did he pick her over him? Why did he value her life the most, when Brian was the only person in the world who could understand him? Did years of shared moments meant more to him than those two days sitting next to his dead mother? Was it because of the Code?

He’s asked himself those questions again and again, never content with any answer, but now she asks him he sees that what he told Brian back then was the truth.

‘Because I’m fond of you. I… You’re my family. I think… I think I might even love you. I’m not sure because, well, I’m not good at feeling things. You know that.’

What surprises him the most is that he means what he says. He’s always been fond of her, because she was Harry’s daughter, because there was a bond between them formed by memories and shared moments, because she loved him and he found that nice. He’s always thought he didn’t feel more strongly about her because he couldn’t feel, but now he realises that wasn’t the whole truth. He could be fond of the girl he shared so many childhood memories with, but he could not love her because he did not share with her who he truly was. The woman before him, however, knows all about him – even the things that not even Harry, not even Brian ever knew – and is still by his side. His darkest self has been revealed to her and not only she hasn’t run away in horror, but she has left her entire life behind to follow him. He’s always been fond of the girl, but he thinks he might be able to love the woman.

‘I love you too, Dexter,’ she replies and he smiles at her fondly, raising a hand to dry a drop of water on her cheek, a gesture that turns into a caress. She swallows and her breath catches, and he can’t understand why until she grabs the back of his head and pulls him so her lips press against his.

He tries to pull away on instinct, but the grip on his hair is fierce and her tongue pushes between his lips until it finds its way in and now he can taste alcohol and mint-flavoured toothpaste and something else he can’t classify. He tries to push her away but his hands slip over her wet skin as she gets a handful of his shirt and pulls him even closer, as her tongue explores his mouth, her teeth bite his lips. His brain can’t process what’s going on, all trains of thought derailed, any reasoning lost when she presses her body against his and his hands start moving of their own accord, grabbing her shoulders instead of pushing her away. He starts to respond to the kiss with the same hungry fierceness she shows, his hands sliding down her back until they come to rest on her waist. They stumble backwards, never breaking the kiss, and fall on the mattress, she on top of him.

She leaves his mouth and starts tracing a path with her tongue along his throat. Her hands undo the first buttons of the shirt so her mouth can have free access and he lets out a groan when she bites him where his neck meets his shoulder. His hands try to reach as much of her skin as they can and he arches when he feels her mouth on his chest. When her hands reach for his belt, though, his eyes snap open and it’s like a light has suddenly been switched on his brain, dissipating the fog.

He grabs her by the shoulders, pushes her off him and lets go quickly as though her skin burnt him and in a way it does. He stares at her, lips swollen, wet hair tangled around her face, a maniac gleam in her eyes, and feels as though he’s never seen her before.

‘What…’ He is panting so hard the words don’t come out of his mouth. It takes him a few deep breaths to make his pulse return to a speed somewhat human. ‘What the hell are you doing?’

She is panting as well, and he wishes he wouldn’t notice the movement of her breasts with each breath she takes, he wishes the sight of her skin shimmering with sweat did not affect him like it does. She runs a hand through her tangled hair, her eyes darker than ever.

‘I just need… Everything’s gone to hell…’ She fixes on him her intense gaze. ‘I need something tangible to hold onto, you know, and right now you’re the only one I can trust.’

‘But you are… I mean, this is…’

‘Fucked up?’ She lets out a humourless laugh. ‘I think we’ve moved past that point a long time ago.’ She leans forward, placing her hands on his chest, her eyes never leaving his. He swallows hard. He should stop this. A part of him knows that it’s wrong, knows that they’ll both regret it. But it’s hard to think straight when she is straddling his hips, when her hands seem to be moving everywhere, when he can feel her hot breath on his skin.

‘We only have each other now,’ she whispers in his ear and he grabs her arms fiercely and kisses her, all rational thought thrown out the window.

It’s not like it was with Rita. He always tried to be gentle, patient and chivalrous with his damaged girlfriend. This is different. This is fierce and nearly brutal, scorching and furious. He grabs her hips hard enough to leave bruises, he can feel her teeth sinking into his skin. He lets go like he has never let go with anyone else before and she takes it, keeping up with his intensity, challenging him with every move. He never stops looking her in the eye because for once he is not afraid of what she might see. No woman has ever known him like she does, in no woman he has trusted before like he trusts in his damaged, fucked up foster sister/accomplice/lover. Tags and definitions no longer work for them, they are off the maps, here be monsters.

Her breath becomes more ragged as she is closer to climax and in her eyes he sees her own darkness as well, the one she must have hidden from the world who knows for how long, the darkness that ties them both with a bond stronger than blood, stronger than love, stronger than anything human. With a cry she throws her head backwards, her body arching and her nails marking his forearms and he feels he is starting to slip away too and then everything turns white and her thin body falls limp in his arms.

He wakes up only a few hours later to find himself in the same position he’s been waking up the last days, which is with her head on the crook of his shoulder and her arm over his chest. The only difference is their current nudity, but he finds it doesn’t disturb him as he would have thought. He contemplates her for a moment, her messy hair, her parted lips. There’s something almost childlike in the way she sleeps with her eyes tight shut, an innocence to her that he can never see now when she’s awake. He pulls out of her embrace, careful so as not wake her up. She mumbles something in her sleep and takes over his side of the bed, her eyes always closed. He feels a sudden and unexplainable urge to caress her hair but he shakes it off. They must get out of this place before the child molester’s absence is noticed and he knows she’s nowhere human until she’s had a mug of coffee and a couple of dounuts.

Soon enough they are on the road again, Eric Carmen blasting off the stereo. He grimaces, but it’s her turn to drive and they’ve agreed that the driver gets to pick the music. He unfolds the map and focuses on finding the most deserted roads, but when she starts to sing along it becomes nearly too much to bear.

‘Deb, please take some pity on my hearing.’

‘Shut up, moron,’ she replies, swatting his hand when he tries to turn down the music. She stops singing, though, and gives him a smile. He smiles back at her and it should surprise him how awkward it’s not but it doesn’t.

Today they are crossing the border, through the desert if they must. They haven’t talked much about what they’ll do once they leave their homeland behind. None of them has been abroad before. He believes Ciudad Juárez might be a good place where to blend in, she says that she’d rather go to Rio. Either way they will have to settle in somewhere long enough to earn some cash, which is already running thin. He wonders what it will be like, both of them making a new life together far away from home. He wonders if they’ll manage to share close quarters considering he’s a neat freak and she’s a mess, if they’ll have to move around a lot so as not get caught. He also wonders who they will be in their next life, if they’ll keep the married couple charade or if they’ll introduce to others as siblings or perhaps just close friends.

But he doesn’t want to dwell on what the future might have in store for them. Life is forever changing and the most solid structures can fall apart like card pyramids blown by a gentle breeze. He can plan all he wants but in the end it won’t matter. What matters is that she is with him, whatever she means to him now (family, companionship, trust, perhaps even love) and the open road that lies ahead of them.

 

 

 


End file.
